


Sand Blasted

by Politzania



Series: Built From Scratch: Scenes from a Friendship [3]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, Iron Man 1, Rescue Missions, Stubborn Rhodey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-08-19 18:52:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16540211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Politzania/pseuds/Politzania
Summary: Colonel James R. Rhodes requests an extension to the Stark SAR mission in Afghanistan and Tony meets him (maybe more than)  halfway.





	Sand Blasted

“Sir, I’m asking you to reconsider your decision regarding the mission.” Colonel James R. Rhodes stood his ground as he made his case to the Bagram base commander. Over the past two months, the search area had spiraled out from the site of the attack to cover a five square mile area without a sign of their target. In addition, one of the helicopters searching a nearby valley had been shot at just the previous day.

““I have to watch out for my people, colonel. Surely you realize it isn’t exactly friendly territory we’re working with.” 

“Yes, sir, I do. But Tony Stark isn’t just the head of the number one weapons supplier to the US Military. He has one of the finest creative engineering minds in the world and if,” Jim paused, clenching his jaw for a moment, “he is alive, I can guarantee you he’s already working on a way to rescue himself. All we have to do is meet him halfway.” 

The general held his gaze for a few long moments. “Very well. You get one chopper, two airmen and three weeks. That’s the best I can do. I’ll put out a call for volunteers this afternoon.” 

Jim was just finishing dinner in the mess hall when a female airman walked up to his table. “Colonel Rhodes? I’m Staff Sergeant Vasquez. I’d like to volunteer for the Stark SAR mission extension.” 

The young woman had a freshly healed scar across her forehead and looked vaguely familiar. “Wait a minute. Weren’t you in the convoy....?” 

“Yes, sir. I was tasked with maintaining the safety of our civilian guest. I failed that mission and I want a chance to make things right.” Her face was carefully schooled, but Jim saw the fire in her eyes. 

“You’re in.” he replied with a nod. “I don’t suppose you can fly a chopper?” 

“No, but I know someone who can.” 

The next morning, Jim, Vasquez and Pulaski -- the pilot Vazquez had recommended -- were poring over a set of maps Jim had wheedled out of the CO’s office. They’d been marked up with yellow and red zones, indicating the likelihood of encounters with insurgents. The search area that had already been covered had given those zones wide berth. 

“If you guys are game, I’d like to get a closer look at some of these valleys over here.” Jim traced a finger right along a yellow zone. “Might have to do some fancy flying.” 

“Don’t got this ink for nothing.” Pulaski boasted, pushing up a sleeve to show off a tattoo that read ‘Flirting with Disaster’. Jim grinned - these were his kind of airmen. 

All three of them agreed that dawn and dusk reconnaissance flights were their best bet -- Tony was plenty smart enough to travel during the cool hours and hunker down while the sun was high. But they kept coming up empty; no sign of anyone other than the occasional itinerant goat herder. Two of the three weeks had slipped past and Jim was starting to lose hope. 

They were just heading back to the camp after a morning run up yet another rocky, desolate valley when Pulaski said, “Base is reporting some sort of huge explosion about 20 clicks southwest of us. Asking if we can go take a look. Radar shows a missile launch, but it must’ve been a misfire. Went straight up a couple hundred feet and then fizzled out.” The pilot paused, then added. “Huh -- one of the radio jocks swears he’s hearing a mayday signal. SOS in Morse code.” 

Jim surprised even himself with a sharp laugh. “Son of a bitch. And I thought you’d only meet us halfway, Tones,” he muttered, then added more loudly, “Pour on the speed, Pulaski -- I think we have a mad scientist calling for pickup.” 

By the time they were nearing the site of the explosion, another chopper had flown out to join them. There had definitely been some sort of camp there, nestled into a dead-end crevasse, but it was a burning wreck by know. Vasquez was on the radio, cajoling base to triangulate the location of the SOS signal. Jim was scanning the terrain with a set of binocs, refusing to blink in case he missed the slightest sign. As they came up on yet another dune -- they all saw a lone figure staggering over the crest. “There!” 

\-----------

Slowly and painfully, Tony extricated himself from the remains of his creation. He could barely see; eyes accustomed to three months of mediocre, generator-fed lighting now exposed to the brilliant, blinding desert sun. He was pretty sure only his right arm was actually broken; although he hurt all over and was bleeding a bit here and there. 

Working mostly by touch, he yanked free some of the leather he’d used to protect himself from the sharp, unfinished edges of the armor plating, draping it over his head as a makeshift hood and sunshade. Tony then looked around, as if somehow he would recognize where he was. Fat chance -- he’d have to wait until dark and try to get his bearings from the stars. Assuming he made it til then, that is. 

Tony had no way of knowing whether the transmitter had survived the incredibly rough landing, as most of the armor was in pieces, scattered across what passed for a landscape out here. For that matter, he had no idea if his mayday signal were even strong enough to reach anyone who, on the off chance, might be listening. But he’d taken the time to cobble it together, just in case. 

He knew he should stay nearby, but the urge to walk somewhere, anywhere was too strong. After having been confined in that goddamned cave -- no more than twenty paces long at most, he needed to stretch his legs. He scrambled up to the top of a nearby dune only to see dozens of dunes that looked just like it, butted up against the rough, jagged mountainside. There was absolutely no sign of life anywhere; he might as well have been on Mars. 

While trapped in the cave, Tony had told Yinsen over and over he’d never complain about being too warm again; perhaps he’d spoken too soon. The pain and shock of losing his companion was finally hitting Tony; the ache in his chest so much more than physical. Yinsen had known he wouldn’t make it out, had fucking **known** , and still gone along with Tony’s plan. Tears slipped down his cheeks; water that he could ill afford to lose, perhaps, but a tribute to a brave, brave man.

He couldn’t let Yinsen’s sacrifice be for nothing. The two of them had managed to build a flying weaponized suit of armor out of scraps in a goddamned cave right under the noses of their captors. Tony Stark was going to find a way to get out of this desert and make things right. 

He had to abandon the crash site as the wind whipping across the sand was scouring his skin raw; he had to find some sort of shelter. Tony had just reached the summit of yet another sand dune when he heard what sounded like US military helicopters -- two of them, coming up from behind, and fast. Praying that his ears weren’t betraying him, he waved his arms frantically as they roared past overhead. 

He watched as they banked sharply to come in for a landing, dropping to his knees with relieved laughter bubbling up from deep inside. He didn’t even care that four of the soldiers had their guns trained on him as they approached ; he was too busy drinking in the sight of the man in the middle, his best, dearest friend who hadn’t given up the search. 

“How was the funvee?” The shouted question was exactly what Tony needed to hear; it kept him together for a few minutes more. Rhodey placed a steadying hand on his shoulder as he crouched down. “Next time you ride with me, okay?” 

Tony leaned heavily into his companion’s embrace; he was safe. He was home.


End file.
